


Try As I Might, You Found Me

by Ranua



Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, The Church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranua/pseuds/Ranua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Okie boy in the big city finds what he never thought to look for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try As I Might, You Found Me

**Author's Note:**

> The writers block was kicked in the butt by the wonderful Nelle816 and the result was beta read by the always fabulous Dodger_Sister. Thank you so very much ladies.

#### 1\. The Okie boy's introduction to the Big Bad City

Chris knows he's risking getting lost taking a short-cut down an unfamiliar alley. He may be new to the city, but he isn't stupid, thank you very much. The city is so damned confusing though, all tall buildings and constant light blocking his usual means of navigation. He's sure though, that he'd seen the Cathedral's spires, and that he could get to them by cutting down this alley.

Boy, was he wrong. The narrow passage had taken a sharp jog away from the spires just visible through the taller buildings and now he was totally turned around. He didn't think he was anywhere near his destination anymore. At least he's pretty damn sure there aren't gaudily dressed hookers, fae or changelings, accompanied by loud music and lingering odors, in the Cathedral neighborhood.

Chris has never seen anything like the crowds swirling around him as he wanders through the market place trying to control his wide-eyed Okie incredulity at the variety of shops and stalls he passes. Not to mention all the different beings. Some he's not sure what race they are, other than most definitely not from Oklahoma. Oklahoma was a quiet, staid place totally in tune with the Church's teachings. The definition of boring in Chris' mind, where as this market and it's inhabitants are the exact opposite.

His mama had worried about him falling in with the wrong crowd in the city. Worried about the danger of so many races packed together and the temptations they could pose to a good boy like himself.

Looked like she may have been right to worry, he grinned to himself.

Catching sight of a familiar street name he's surprised to find he really is only a couple of streets over from where he needs to be. Making note of where he's at, he is for sure coming back to explore further, he continues his interrupted errand.

#### 2\. This here's what we call an Outcast Party

He's not free again until Saturday night, but he thinks that's about perfect, as discrete inquires have netted him the info that the Tender - as it's referred to - is the happening place to be on the weekend.

He's not disappointed either. It seems every other door is a restaurant, club or bar of some sort. The sounds and smells are even more intoxicating in the air of festival that the weekend brings.

He meanders along the sidewalk, just absorbing the atmosphere. This is what he's been wanting from the city, the wild mix of races and creeds that just wasn't found in his quiet church life. He never let his mama know just how fascinating he found all the different peoples that populated the world. It wasn't done for a good church boy from the country to want to mix with heathens, after all.

The confines of home and the church constrict and chafe at him and he knows there is more for him than the rounds of Church and placid family life. That's why he volunteered to come to the city in the first place. He wanted adventure, to meet new people and try new things and it felt like he'd finally found what he came for.

The sounds of music draw him forward to a yellow door. The music sounds like home, but different, wilder, more free. The people milling around outside the establishment wear clothing he's familiar with, but again subtly different, the colors a little bolder, the cuts a little more daring.

It echoes home and it eases a loneliness he didn't even know he was feeling, while at the same time enticing him towards what his mama was surely talking about in all her endless warnings and lectures on the evils of the city.

He easily slips into the crowd, fitting seamlessly with these people. He looses himself for hours in the music and dancing. Thirst finally pushes him to the bar. Even the drinks remind him of home. 

He sputters as he knocks it back - far stronger though.

He can't help but lean in to the bartender and ask, 'What is this? Is it like this all the time?'

'This here is what we call an outcast party,' is the grinned response.

#### 3\. Blue eyes crying in the rain

Steve hates winter rain, it's cold with no promise of growth or warmth, only a punishing feeling of never-ending gloom. The fae feel the cold more keenly than the other races he's sure, and this far north of his home, well, he doesn't like it.

Besides, the bad weather keeps his favorite new distraction away. He has yet to get close enough to touch or talk to the other man, but watching and idle speculation are enough to alleviate the boredom of waiting. The young man is enough of an enigma to do that at least.

He has the look of the church about him and the drab conservative ways of the countryside, but he melts seamlessly into the ebb and flow of this rougher district; never shying away from anything and approaching people of all types with a delightful curiosity.

In the weeks Steve has been watching, the church mouse has charmed any number of shop owners and residents. The innocent joy he appears to take in each new thing makes Steve long to muss him up. To see if that quiet wonder and happiness can be turned his way.

But no, the damned cold winter rain is washing the streets an icy gray and no one is venturing out unless they must. 

With one last glare at the clouds he closes the shutters, turning away from the sight.

#### 4\. Somebody's watching me

Finding the outcast party introduces Chris to a side of the city he had no idea existed. There are probably hundreds of Okies living in the city and they have a lifestyle that mirrors what he is used to, but is far less restrictive. They live and work and play with all manner of other races and creeds, with none of the judgmental leanings of the Church.

This is what he didn't know he was craving, all the trappings of home with none of the restriction. It's not all sunshine and roses however. Most of the Outcast, as they all call themselves, really are outcast. Excommunicated from the Church for their failure to conform. Those that haven't been excommunicated live a sort of double life. Following Church doctrine in public, but leading a private life that the Church would condemn, all-the-while afraid of being caught out.

Chris himself has no desire to end up on the wrong side of the Church regardless of how constricting he finds its teachings. It's the life he grew up in and the life his mama leads and he'd never break her heart as long as he lives, he loves her too much for that.

He's no prude though, and more than once lets a group of pretty boys and girls of several races drag him out on the dance floor, laughing and smiling as the girls spin him around. When one of the handsome boys pulls him close as the music slows he goes with it; relishing winding his arms around a firm body, so different from that of a girl.

After several energetic rounds across the dance floor, he begs off the group and returns to the bar. He thought the eyes he'd felt on him had been the other dancers on the floor, but as he settles back with a cold glass of water he can feel them still. 

He would put it down to being a new face in the crowd, but he's been coming to this particular bar rather deep in the Tender for several weeks now. The heavy, lingering feeling of being watched is starting to make him nervous in a vague, uncertain way. The only reason he can think of for someone to be watching him with this kind of intensity is the Church and that won't end well.

#### 5\. Feeling the rush of that first touch

It's another lively night and Chris greets friends as he moves through the crowds of tonight's Outcast Party. He doesn't feel like an outcast any longer. The people he's met in the last months have welcomed him with far more forgiving arms than any of the people he grew up with; whom he still lives with in the Church's barracks.

He wants something quieter tonight though, he's not in the mood for raucous crowds. He winds his way through the dancers and back to the street. There's a cozy little cafe tucked between a bookseller and an apothecary he's become very fond of and sitting with a quiet cup of mulled wine, snug between the scents of old parchment and the muddle of drying herbs, appeals to him tonight.

Steve's tired of waiting. Going out and living life is preferable to sitting around waiting on word from his friends. Besides, if the church mouse can find it in himself to venture out among the great unwashed, a being of his caliber can do no less.

The rush and crush of night life parts around him and it reminds him why he usually watches instead of participates. While Steve looks like any other member of a humanoid species, the instincts of those around him label him predator and they shy away accordingly. Tonight he finds it annoying. Any other time and the thrill of the hunt would more than make up for being feared.

Spying the warm glow of a cafe, Steve decides to give in and call it a wasted experiment. Besides, there's been no trace of his little church mouse and if the reason he ventured out in the first place isn't going to oblige him with an appearance, what's the point.

But then, well, Steve can't believe his eyes. Of course that's the way his luck would run, finally give up on a thing happening and there it is, right in front of him. Some god must be smiling on him as well, because the only empty seat in the shop shares a table with the object of his recent obsession.

'May I join you?' 

Looking up into the icy blue eyes of the speaker sends a thrill through Chris. They're the same shade as a clear Oklahoma winter morning. And just as warm.

'You're with the church, right?' the stranger continues. 'It's the clothes. I couldn't help but notice you like a quiet spot among the noise.'

Chris flushes at the comment. He's unsure if it's meant as an insult or compliment.

'I mean no insult,' the stranger adds, as though reading Chris' mind. 'I find it proclaims your individuality as loudly as the brightest colors ever could.'

Chris' flush deepens at the compliment. 'Thank you. Please, sit, the chair is free.'

'I'm Steve,' he says and offers his hand. As a rule he doesn't like touching people, but he wants to touch this fascinating man. Thankfully the dictates of human courtesy offer him an opportunity.

'Christian. Chris,' Chris replies, taking the other man's hand. The jolt that runs through him at the contact makes the thrill he felt when meeting the stranger's winter blue eyes feel like nothing at all.

'Do you play?' Steve asks, gesturing to the game board inlay of the table.

'Some, not very well I'm afraid,' Chris answers.

'Fancy a game?' Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, 'I'll even take hounds.'

Hounds and Stags is far from Chris' favorite game, but the stories Steve tells of his travels as they play are captivating. 

Steve is even more enchanted with his little church mouse as the evening progresses. Not once does the human flinch away from him or show the slightest bit of unease in his presence. For that alone the night is worth it.

#### 6\. Accidental brushes of contact

The friendships he's made with residents and patrons of the Tender become more important to Chris as time passes. He should be worried that he's having less and less in common with his brothers in the church, but he can't bring himself to care.

His friendship with Steve is a prime example of that lack of care. He knows how the church feels about non-humans; tolerant of their existence, but little else. Yet the nights they spend together in deep conversation are the highlights of Chris' week.

Not to mention the times when they're crammed into a booth shoulders bumping, or across a table hands brushing as they both reach for the tea or wine. Chris starts to look forward to the accidental touches as much as their conversations. The illicit thrill he gets from every brief contact surely must fall within the temptations his mama warned him about.

As long as he does nothing about it though, there's nothing to worry about, he rationalizes. He may be rebelling in small ways, but he has no desire to face excommunication if it became known what he got up to in his free time. Bad enough to consort with the excommunicated and fae, but to have carnal thoughts too? 

Not good. Not in the Church's eyes.

#### 7\. I'll be the best mistake you ever make

Steve would like nothing better than to take the other man away for an evening of debauchery, but the novelty of what feels like total acceptance from a human stays his hand. He's never met anyone like Chris and his easy acceptance. He could care less about running with the Wild Hunt, he's far to involved in his new game.

Chris shows no hesitation in touching him. In fact, at times, it seems the man is reaching out for the contact. Steve feels an addicting thrill at every touch and so gently encourages all the intimacies he thinks he can get away with. His friends would laugh themselves silly at how long this little dance has gone on, but he's enjoying himself too much to care what they'd think.

One cold rainy night, their regular shop packed due to the weather and neither wanting the loud raucous atmosphere of a bar, Steve manages to coax Chris to his rooms for their usual game and conversation. It's quiet and it's intimate and it's exactly what Steve has wanted: Chris in his space.

Touches linger and conversation slows.

'We can't' Chris whispers, conflict evident in his voice, 'It would be a mistake.'

'Are you so sure of that?' Steve murmurs, drawing Chris' hand from its place on the table. Cradling it between his own hands he places a gentle kiss on the palm. Hearing the hitch of Chris' breathing he keeps his head ducked to hide a wicked smile.

#### 8\. Regret is best served cold

It wasn't a mistake, Chris is sure of that and it isn't just the sex, the companionship and connection he feels with Steve is something he's never experienced before. For that alone, being with Steve is worth it.

Oh, he knows Steve isn't human, merely human shaped, but it doesn't matter to him. It doesn't even matter what the Church or his mama think of fae and changelings. Just thinking that scares the heck out of him, but it doesn't change how he feels.

A bare week after the change to his relationship with Steve, he's called to the Bishop's office. Heart pounding and guilt surging through his veins he approaches his superiors office.

'Christian, please, sit.' The Bishop greets him warmly and it only serves to make Chris feel worse. For all the rigidity of the church, Chris has never felt anything but warmth and acceptance, surely nothing to rebel against.

'Thank you, your Holiness.'

'I've heard some troubling rumors regarding your behavior, Christian. I'm hoping you can lay them to rest.'

'Sir?'

'It seems several of your brothers are saying you frequent an area of the city with the dubious moniker of the Tender.'

'Sir?' It feels like the only word Chris can force around the lump in his throat.

'I understand the lure of temptation, son, especially for someone like yourself, away from home for the first time. But your curiosity has been satisfied now, and that is no place for an upstanding young man like yourself to frequent. Those kind of people are not the sort we associate with. Pray for and minister to certainly, but not befriend. Now, I don't want to hear any more rumors about you Christian, are we clear?'

'Yes, sir'

'Good, excellent. You'd best be off to your duties then, son.'

Woodenly Chris makes his way back to his dormitory. Mind carefully blank, he packs up his few belongings; clothing and a handful of trinkets making a rather small bundle. Still carefully not thinking, he makes his way out of the Church complex, taking care not to be seen. Within minutes he's climbing the stairs of the boarding house Steve rents his rooms in.

He's never been here during the bustle of mid-day before. Theirs is a relationship of lazy evenings and late nights. It gives him pause, will Steve be pleased or annoyed to see him? Chris knows the intensity of his own feelings, but knows nothing of what Steve may or may not think and feel about him. Steeling his resolve, he knocks.

#### 9\. Remind me why this seemed like a good idea again

Steve hadn't planned for this. Seducing his little church mouse was just supposed to be a bit of fun. A way to pass the time until his friends came along and swept him up into the excitement of the Fairy Lords court. It certainly wasn't supposed to lead to feelings.

And isn't it the height of irony that him, a hell-hound, would develop feelings for some one like Chris, a good son of the church. Out of all the races and beings he could have picked, he picks one that should hate and fear him most. It seems the gods do have a sense of humor after all.

He isn't even sure if the other man returns his feelings. They aren't so far past the first fragile moments of this thing for Steve to be sure where they stand. If only he hadn't let it drag out in a game of small intimacies he wouldn't be in this state now.

And what's going to happen when his friends finally do show up? Granted they were more than a month late, but the Hunt never has run on mortal time. At best they would laugh at his predicament and drag him along regardless of his desires. At worst, Chris would end up in their sights. The whims of the fae were just that, whimsical.

#### 10\. What it really means to put your faith in someone

'What's this?' Steve asks from where he's idly shifting through Chris' small pile of belongings. It's a small stag pendant and the last time Steve saw anything like it was at Court, being gifted to the human lover of one of the Lords of the Hunt. If he remembered correctly, it conferred the protection of the Hunt on the wearer.

Chris looks up from the letter he's trying - and failing - to write to his mama. 'Oh, it was a gift from my father to my mother when she found out she was pregnant with me. He disappeared not long after.'

'That must have been hard on her.'

'You'd think that,' Chris continues, 'but she never had a bad thing to say about him, no matter how the other Church ladies carried on. She gave it to me just before I left for the city. For luck, she said.'

'Luck indeed,' Steve whispers. Louder, he continues, 'I need to tell you something.'

#### 11\. Hell-hounds, a good scritching is like an orgasm - both leave you boneless

Their relationship has come so far in the weeks since Chris left the Church and Steve's revelation regarding his race. To say the revelation had been a shock may be an understatement. Of all the beings the Church taught Chris to avoid, the Wild Hunt and their hell-hounds were at the top of the list. Although, he can't remember his mama ever mentioning either in her endless worrying and warning.

It may have been a shock - Steve being a hell-hound - but Chris didn't let it bother him more than a moment. He's willing to risk the wrath of the Church and the breaking of his mama's heart over the man, so really, it matters very little what his race is.

It seemed to matter more to Steve that Chris was human and therefore more vulnerable. The man could out worry his mama and insisted Chris wear the stag pendant. After he'd gotten out of Steve why - and now he had questions about just who his father was - he was happy to assuage Steve's worry by wearing it.

Steve also worried that Chris couldn't handle his other, primary shape. It had taken days of cajoling to get him to agree to spend the evening transformed with Chris. 

The hound lolling across his lap now is large, far larger than his lap can accommodate, and sprawls across most of the sofa they share as well. Steve is a beautiful cream color with red ears and a whip of a tail thumping arrhythmical against the arm of the sofa. The only feature the hound and the man share are cold, pale blue eyes.

Chris scratches and rubs Steve's head and ears contentedly. If he had any doubts that the hound was Steve, that inside this beautiful creature was the same beautiful man he knew, this would convince him otherwise. Steve makes the same blissed out rumbling hum after an orgasm too.

Steve wasn't what he was looking for when he came to the city to escape the small town church life, but sometimes what you find is better than what you were looking for.


End file.
